


Come Home

by scatteringmyashes



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 23:15:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11390445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scatteringmyashes/pseuds/scatteringmyashes
Summary: Some people get a happy ending. Some people don't. Fenris and Hawke are the lucky ones.A look at what happens to the two after all's said and done.





	Come Home

**Author's Note:**

> For day two of Fenris Week. The prompt was gluttony/temperance. I sort of did it on topic? 
> 
> Listen this is just fluff ok.
> 
> Find me on tumblr [here](http://scatteringmyashes.tumblr.com/)

When it’s all over, they settle down in a small cottage with four rooms. It’s surrounded by forest and they have to hunt for most of their meat, but the garden out back is big enough to support them and there’s a village not three hours walk away that they can visit in order to get more supplies. Between the two of them, their survival skills are more than enough and they improve the cottage bit by bit until slowly, though not nearly as slowly as some things in their relationship have gone, they have a life together. 

It is not the life Fenris thought he would have, aged perhaps thirty five or thirty six years old. He’s living with the man he fell in love with many years ago, the man who was there when he killed Hadriana and when he faced his former master and ripped his throat out. The bloodstains never were fully removed from Hawke’s favor, but neither of them mind -- they serve as a reminder of how far they’ve come. 

They have a mabari and Fenris helps grow plants and he can read and sleep in late and nobody tells him what he must do, nobody threatens to beat him or starve him and if he chooses to raise his sword it is for himself only. So no, this is not the life he thought he would have.

This is so much better.

And Hawke, a man raised to defend his mage sister, who lost his father and then every other family member including that very sister, is able to start a new life. They talk about having a family of their own, of adopting a child since the Maker knows how many are orphans. But for now, it is just the two of them in their small cottage with its four rooms.

Fenris indulges himself. After a life of very little, of choices being made for him and of fighting for every scrap, there’s something to be said for letting himself do something just for the sake of bringing himself enjoyment. 

“Do you want more soup?” Hawke asks one night. Fenris, after eating two bowls, nods. He’s stuffed, almost ridiculously so, but it’s good food. The spices invoke hints of Tevinter and the meat is fresh from that afternoon’s hunt. Fenris has never imagined himself as good with a bow or a good hunter in general, but Hawke’s skills as a rogue have translated well. 

“Thank you,” Fenris says as Hawke brings him a third bowl, pulling Hawke down by his tunic and kissing him. Hawke gives him a bright smile and kisses him back. 

The bowl goes a bit cold as the two of them take a moment. This sort of casual intimacy is nice. They were not so open about their relationship in Kirkwall because of the danger -- too much, too risky, even if one of them is an experienced warrior and the other a cutthroat rogue -- but here in the middle of the forest, who can hurt them? Who can say that they cannot be happy, that they are not able to enjoy themselves? 

Eventually, they pull away. Fenris has to blink past stars and Hawke has an intense look in his gaze, the kind that promises that he is going to worship Fenris later. 

“You mean the world to me,” Hawke says. It’s not the first time he has and yet Fenris still blushes. 

He covers it with a cough but Hawke knows it was there and just settles back across from Fenris, watching as he finishes eating. 

Later that night, they hold each other and Fenris falls asleep to the sound of his partner breathing softly, steadily. There is something to be said about just knowing that the love of your life is right there and that nothing will take him from you. Fenris has become a big fan of such moments. 

In the morning, Hawke has to wake up early in order to prepare the horses. The two of them have planned a visit into town. A letter from Varric is supposed to arrive soon and they’re running low on supplies like flour and oil. Fenris would rather they walk, but that means they have to carry everything back. That wouldn’t be a problem for him, but Hawke has never liked to lift more than he absolutely has to. There were many moments when he hoisted off scavenged weapons to his companions to carry and Fenris recalls fondly the many times certain abominations were weighed down by staves and boots dangling from his arms. 

All that means, though, is that Hawke must wake up before Fenris. Of course, they are usually too entangled and if one is awake the other is not far behind. On that particular morning, Fenris lets out a soft moan and holds tighter onto Hawke.

“I need to saddle the horses,” Hawke reminds him gently. “So we can go into town later.” 

“We can go later,” Fenris complains. Hawke rolls his eyes and makes to leave again. He goes nowhere. They have long since established that Fenris, while shorter and smaller, is much stronger. If he doesn’t want Hawke to go anywhere, Hawke is not leaving. “Ten more minutes.” 

“All right.” Hawke is smiling. Fenris doesn’t have to look to know that Hawke is smiling because he almost always is smiling these days. It’s a good look on him. 

Ten more minutes turns into twenty turns into going into town a whole hour later than planned, the sun high in the sky as they set out on their horses. They were gifts from Isabela, Maker knows how she got them in the first place, and as much as Fenris dislikes horses he appreciates the thought. These are at least good horses, solid and reliable, though he doubts they’ve seen a day of combat in their life. Then again, he has no intentions of having to raise his sword again and he cannot help but think that maybe, just maybe, he and Hawke can begin to put their past behind them. 

Everyone else seems to be doing it, even Varric. The bloody bastard wrote an entire book on what happened in Kirkwall and yet he can be found drinking and gambling in any tavern across Thedas as if nothing has changed. But if he can put before the destruction of what was his city, maybe Fenris and Hawke can do the same.

They arrive in town after an hour and a half of riding and they agree to go their separate ways. The town is welcoming, used to them arriving nowadays, but that doesn’t stop merchants from giving Hawke a better deal and eyeing Fenris with barely-concealed suspicion. He imagines that the tattoos don’t help. 

“I’ll meet you at the tavern at sundown,” Hawke promises. Fenris nods and they part with a kiss. 

Fenris goes to the elven merchants. There are a few, mostly selling Dalish goods that he has no interest in, but a few have a kind of bread that he has become partial to and another is also up for a chat about weapons. He may no longer be one, but that doesn’t stop Fenris’ interest in them. 

“Look at what I just got in,” the merchant says with a smile on her face. She pulls out a beautiful sword, at least five feet long and double-edged. It is not an elven weapon, not traditionally. Most elves are unable to have the stamina to swing around something so large, not consistently and not during a life or death situation.

Most elves do not have lyrium burned into their skin.

“The craftsmanship is exquisite,” Fenris replies. But he does not buy it. 

Instead, he goes to the woman who makes jewelry and little trinkets. She is raising three children alone, her husband killed in the squabble between mages and templars. Fenris likes talking to her and the mantle in the cottage is already filling with her wares. 

Today, he sees what is a small dragon, its mouth opened wide as it prepares to shoot fire. The scales are rough and the wings are a little crooked. It adds absolutely no value to the cottage and it would only weigh him down and take up space if he were to have to leave suddenly with only a pack on his back. 

“I would like these,” Fenris says, choosing a small mabari as well. He and Hawke are the proud owners of three mabari carvings. Trinket, their actual mabari, seems mostly confused by the wooden ones. They are pointless as anything other than decoration and Fenris enjoys seeing them accumulate, seeing this proof that he is moving on.

He puts them in his shoulder bag and spends the rest of the afternoon walking around the town, talking to the few people he is almost friends with. At one point, he spots Hawke laughing with someone, a bag of flour thrown over a shoulder. His ponytail is coming undone and Fenris feels his fingers twitch with the urge to fix it. Then Fenris realizes there is nothing stopping him from doing just that and so he goes up to Hawke, smiles at him, and then takes the leather band out of Hawke’s hair.

“What?” Hawke frowns, turning as Fenris motions. “Did you find anything you wanted to buy?” He asks, letting Fenris redo his hair.

“Yes.” Fenris is aware of the looks that Hawke’s friend is giving him -- the butcher, if his apron is anything to go by -- but he ignores him. “Are you done?” Fenris asks instead, carefully looping the leather around Hawke’s hair so that none of the strands will be tangled. 

“Almost. Want to finish with me?” Hawke turns back around once Fenris is done and aims that smile at Fenris. With that smile, he could ask Fenris to walk to the ends of Thedas and Fenris would in a heartbeat. 

With that smile, Hawke asked Fenris to runaway with him and to start a new life. Fenris could have said no. He could have walked away. The thought never even crossed his mind. 

After they finish shopping, they go to the tavern and eat. They buy a nice roast, fresh bread, and good mead. Nobody looks twice at them and Fenris shows Hawke the wood carvings he bought earlier. As expected, Hawke loves them. He gives Fenris a huge grin and reaches over, taking his hand and squeezing. 

“They’re lovely, thank you,” he says. Fenris rolls his eyes and mutters something about how they’re just small things, nothing to be so emotional about. But he knows what Hawke is thinking. 

Many years ago, Fenris asked Hawke what should someone do when they stop running. 

_You take a breath and look around. And start anew._

“Let’s go home,” Fenris says when they’re done eating. Hawke smiles and kisses him. 

“Home is right here.” 

Fenris rolls his eyes even as he pulls his beautiful partner closer and kisses him deeply. They slowly pull apart. He takes a deep breath. And then they go.


End file.
